


My Hands Are of Your Colour

by MsScratch1313



Series: High Rollers Universe [4]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Deanee, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 14:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12683943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsScratch1313/pseuds/MsScratch1313
Summary: Renee runs a clean business. Dean does the dirty work. When they come together, they feel at home. (And also end up doing a lot of laundry.)





	My Hands Are of Your Colour

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Deanee content we were all waiting for. Hopefully it's ok (I tried to make it more of the ramble-y style I've been playing with, but Dean is a dork so he got in the way)
> 
> Title comes from Macbeth, for obvious aesthetic reasons

Renee likes to think she runs a clean business.

The High Rollers **are** Las Vegas. Through a series of investments, stock exchanges, buyouts, and property management, (“big bank terms” as Dean likes to put it) they own the Strip. All legitimate ventures...for the most part. Predatory practices, one could say, but you don't get to top by being a pushover.

Secondly, the Rollers don't run drugs. The cash draw isn't worth the labor and risk, a calculation Renee made long ago. Neither her, nor her employees partake in anything harder than alcohol or tobacco. Monopoly is a hard game to play while high.

Lastly, though she has any number of men ready to go to war, she knows they aren't expendable. Renee knows that the pawns she plays with are _people._ Those loyal to her are family, and reap the benefits. The respect she receives is entirely mutual. Her enemies, on the other hand? Well, that’s a different story.

The High Rollers run a clean business. The irony in all this, Renee finds, is that she found the mangiest, grungiest, dirty street dog of a human being to call her husband.

“Honey, I'm home,” Dean sings, alerting her to his presence in lieu of knocking on her office door. 

Renee sighs, rolling her eyes, and sending Dasha an apologetic look. Dasha just smiles knowingly and gathers up the paperwork she was going over with Renee, heading towards the door as Dean enters to Renee’s “Come in!”

He stumbles into her office in all his filthy glory, fresh off a job and still riding on the adrenaline. 

“Sorry Dasha,” Dean says, stepping aside so the secretary can get by. “You can do more boring paper-things later.” 

Dasha laughs and tells them she’ll swing by tomorrow, closing the door on her way out.

“The job went well then, I’m assuming?” Renee inquires, stepping away from her desk and circling around it.

“Mmhmmm,” Dean hums, meeting her halfway. He’s practically trembling at this point, jittery and riled.

“There’s blood under your nails again,” Renee notes, weaving her fingers in between his. She’s getting dust and grime on her pantsuit, but she’ll worry about the dry cleaning later.

“Oops,” Dean says, entirely uncaring, taking the opportunity their hand-holding presents to start swaying to some music only he can hear. “I meant to shower when I got back, but--”

“You just couldn’t wait to see me?” Renee deadpans, spreading her arms out, letting her chin rest on Dean’s chest. Dean blows his fringe from out of his eyes so he can look down into hers.

“Maaaybe” Dean says, teasingly. He breathes in deep, some of whatever was rattling his soul calming in Renee’s presence. They keep their slow waltz going, just enjoying each other's company for some quiet, peaceful moments.

Renee cherishes these sort of occurrences. Life hasn't been kind to Dean in the past. He doesn't like being passive, having learned long ago that staying still means taking hits. Seeing him relax with her, even for just a little while, is something Renee will always love.

“Look at me,” Dean says, leaning down to steal a kiss. “I'm becoming a regular goomah.”

Renee laughs, releasing his fingers to hug him properly. 

“It’s a little late for that buddy,” she teases, “You already married me.”

“Oh right! I did that, yeah,” Dean reminisces, earning him a playful _“oh stop!”_ and a light smack from Renee. His laughter fills the office as he chases her around the room, eventually recapturing her, his hands grabbing her hips.

Hands that had taken a tire iron and bashed in a guy’s cranium a couple of hours ago. 

(He’d taken his wedding band off for that one. Didn't want to scuff it or get brain matter on it.) 

It's _justice,_ as Dean and Roman like to say. Justice, in the Roller’s sense. Renee knows this, knows that when she makes the call, it has to be the right one, because innocent blood does nothing to further this organization. She doesn't take joy in ordering hits, not like that bastard Triple H and his club does. Renee just takes pride in the results they produce.

Dean and Roman don't lack empathy, but they know that their job is necessary. To them, it just got easier. Dean borderline enjoys it some days. _He’s just sick like that,_ he says. He’s not. Renee knows that while he enjoys the fight, and the pain, his heart is in the right place. His heart is home with her. Dean is a dangerous son of a bitch, but she’s also caught him singing loudly in the shower, giving money to the homeless, buying candy for no reason, and taking a starving, lost little bulldog home.

That’s the man she knows and loves.

Dean smells like gasoline, and still has blood under his nails, but Renee is in his arms right now _so that’s ok._ Later they can be the Queen of the Vegas High Rollers and her loyal lunatic. Right now? 

“There’s a Red’s game on later. Thought we could pick up some steaks and fire up the grill?” Dean asks hopefully.

“Sounds like a plan,” Renee says. “You need a shower first though, mister.”

“Care to join me?” Dean says, with an absolutely atrocious eyebrow wiggle. Renee laughs. It's terrible.

“Go take a damn shower, you smell,” Renee insists, swatting at Dean, who cringes exaggeratedly with a cry of _“hey!”_

Later, curled up together on the couch at the top of the sixth inning, with Blue snoozing at their feet and a cold beer in her hand, Renee thinks the day couldn't get any better.

(It more than makes up for the cost of constant dry cleaning being married to Dean Ambrose requires.)


End file.
